Anathema
by Coffinspire
Summary: Fortune wears a red dress, but her bones smell of death.
1. Presearing: A Minuet in C Minor

_Story description lyrics from _Kenny Gibler (Play The Piano Like A Disease),_ by_ The Chariot.

**Anathema**

_Pre-searing: A Minuet in C Minor_

**Author's note**: This story may be discontinued… I'm not sure. I'm just uploading it because I did put a lot of work into it, and I suppose that the first two chapters could merely stand alone. I was planning on making it an entire story following the plot of Guild Wars (which would take ridiculously long, I know) but I probably don't have the time for it. Either way, enjoy—and I may add more parts later.

Thanks to Laura for giving me feedback while I wrote this :)

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Coruscating lights flood my vision, my head vertiginous. I've never visualized anything so magnificent. And yet I know this is something to be feared. The sky is radiating, and it's then when I witness the balls of fire ripping across the sky, absolutely tearing through the fog of the morn. The fire turns the entire sky crimson. A feeling of disquietude overtakes me. I rise from the grass I lay in, my legs unsteady as the stream of fire continues to be fed through the sky. I brush adhesive blades of grass from my breeches, my chin raised to see the aerial view above me. It's then when I notice a dire detail of the scene taking place--these globs of flame are not natural. It's as if they're being launched from the forest. Precariously, I gather my paints and rush back to the City.

I rush through the meadows, having no time to enjoy the fragrant scents surging throughout my nostrils. Thorns prick through the agile fabric of my breeches, a few imbedding themselves in my calves. The worn leather of my boots is the only thing sheathing my ankles. The bucket I clutch containing my tubes of paint bounces unsteadily, forcing my pace to remain at the same speed. What I'm running from, I don't know. The lights are screeching closer, although I know they're not heading at me. It's then that a seemingly inadequate rock trips me and I lose my footing. The bucket I once held closely goes tumbling out in front of me and my face submerges into a patch of thistle. I cringe from the impact. I breathe heavily, letting the grasses settle over my body as I lay with my stomach to the ground. My ears perk, listening… listening. The haunting sounds grow fainter. I roll onto my back, gazing into the sky, the position I had maintained shortly ago. The paints are sprayed back in the grasses and my palette settles somewhere with them. I inhale deeply, contemplating everything around me.

I now lie in the lush meadows, outside of Ascalon City, or Rin. The wildlife throughout here has been a bit… Unsettling lately. Violent river skales and other small, fiendish creatures have lately been calling our kingdom home. I am to be attentive of my surroundings because of this. To be honest, I'm not very educated in any form of combat or self-defense. I have instead chosen the lifestyle of either an artist or artisan. Either-or, I practice my painting in the outdoors, while I practice my craftsmanship in forging materials at my home. I live with my mother and two younger sisters. Ellecia is fourteen, while my baby sister Efthemia is eight years of age. My father passed away when I was five, but I am still proud to bear the name Elias Helisson.

The gruesome fire continues to occasionally be shot throughout the sky, but wherever it's being launched from is some distance away. The balls seem to be growing in size, which may explain why I had thought them to be growing closer, but now at I distance I can see they're still coming from the same location in the forest. Surely a ballistae or even trebuchet is the cause of this. Our soldiers must merely be practicing their routine defense procedures against the Charr, a formidable beast that we've been at war with for half a century. The Charr are a race below Humans--yes, us humans do see every other race below us--but they still rise above all other creatures. Their intelligence is moderately high, although they speak a language entirely of their own. These Charr harness the power of fire for combat, so as father used to say, the only way to fight fire is with fire. To the Charr, flame represents their gods. The City has been a bustle with talk of blasting these damned Charr out of their homes and driving them from the kingdom of Ascalon for good.

With a grunt I sit up, thistle snagged in knots in my rust-colored hair. I run my fingers throughout it; I am then able to withdraw with a handful of stray weeds, which I dump back down the earth. I first stretch out my left leg and then my right. My fingers stretch to the tip of my boot and I wrap them around. My fingers are long and skilled at tying knots. I hold this position for five blinks and then repeat it on the other leg. Mother complains that my legs will become crippled with arthritis like Lady Theodosia, an elderly woman my mother cares for, if I remain inactive for large periods of time. I don't wish to go through as much agony through movement as she does, as I can't help but cringe whenever I see her hobbling around with Mother's help, so always take precaution.

Before getting to work on my painting, I spy an acorn near my tube of red paint. I pick it up and rub it between my palms. It stays intact. I then shove it deep within the pockets of my breeches. Carrying an acorn brings luck and ensures a long life. I then return to the task at hand and set up my art space. My prized possession is my easel, carved from an ancient oak tree. I set up my canvas, and gaze into the substrate, trying to picture what to place upon it. I pick up my brush, and finger the ferrule, looking at the landscape. It's then when my sight diverts back above me--at the flames, shooting out of the forest and across the sky, until they're out of view. This will make a marvelous painting. If I can execute it properly, maybe it will even fetch a large sum of money. Then, I can buy Ellecia her very own bow, and maybe some candy for Efthemia. Mother doesn't approve of women fighting, but it will cause no harm for my Eli to learn the basics of weaponry. The entire land of Tyria is having great technologic advancement, as well as morals and views. Maybe someday when Ellecia is grown, it will be okay for women to fight. Also, with the war against the Charr, anyone who can wield a weapon may be required to fight, if a siege were ever to occur on the Wall.

I squirt some paint out of my palette, blending warm colors together, to create a fiery tint. I then realize I have no water to wash my brushes with, whenever I may wish to change colors. I pick up my bucket, and rub the tips of my fingers against the small cracks in the sides. Profuse amounts of water have never seeped through them before, so I trust it to be a reliable holder. I swing the metal handle in my hand and run down to a stream. I look around -- just to be sure that the location I have chosen is safe -- and dip it into the water. Clear water trickles in, the bucket swaying from the force of the current as it's submerged. Once the water reaches the top, I raise it, and dump out the water overflowing the edge. Droplets of water run down the sides of the wooden bucket but none escapes through the small cracks. Trusty bucket. I begin to head back but stop when I hear splashing in the water. I turn around, and gasp to see a River Skale Tad. He glares at me through small, crimson eyes. He has a large jaw, with two slits for nostrils. The end of his scaly muzzle is the color of raw flesh, and razor sharp teeth tremble at the sight of me. He rises to stand on two feet, and looks to be only about the size of one grown man's foot in height. Scales cascade down his erect spinal cord, the same color that reminds me of raw flesh. All of his paws are webbed with this color, with nails as sharp as his teeth. The rest of his scales are adorned with a fading blue. We stand there, staring at each other for uncountable time. Man and beast. Is he curious at the sight of me, as I am about him, or does only think of sinking his teeth deep into my thigh?

"I am not very tasty," I say finally, although he wouldn't be able to understand me. I motion to the muscle on my forearms, and shake my head. "Not a good meal at all. I am still a young boy. I am only 16, although I will be 17 around Midsummer. It's then that I will be of age to wed. But, anyway… Sir River Skale, please find something of your own size to gnaw upon."

The River Skale Tad grunts, and lowers himself back to all fours. I release a breath I hadn't known I'd held as he stalks off. I carry my bucket back to my painting site, being cautious not to spill too much into the grass as I place it down. I now rub the bristles of my brush in the paint I had created earlier, and glance into the sky for guidance one last time. The fires have disappeared. I squint extra-hard, and stand on my toes, just to elevate my head further. There's no sign of them. I frown. The defensive drills must be over. I close my eyes, rocking on my heels, trying to re-create the image in my mind. I will just have to paint it by memory. With my eyes still closed, I bring the tip of my brush to the canvas, and begin to paint. I have the substrate memorized--I know everything textured bump on the parchment, and can tell where to guide my hand. I paint a vague outline of the sky, and end at where the horizon should be. I then darken the spaces where I plan to place the fireballs. I now use white to paint the clouds they temporarily soar over, with stray strands of fire disrupting their flow. Once I am done with all of the other details of the sky, I paint the fire. I use many flaming colors to portray what I saw, making them striking out in many different directions. Of course I have opened my eyes for this part, for I wish to make this flawless. Occasionally, I glance quickly in the sky, checking if the fireballs may have returned. They haven't. The day advances into the afternoon, bright colors beginning to cast across the horizon. They are no match for my fire, but it is still a marvelous thing to perceive. Late afternoon comes, and my stomach steadily aches, gaining more extremity than any of my other senses. I sigh, and glance at my painting. If I add any more to it, it may begin to look cluttered. I carve my family name into the corner of the canvas in a rather petite size, so it will take no attention away from my art. This painting will suffice, and is rather good, but still does not capture the impact of the fire.

I begin to pack up my supplies. Mother will have prepared our Midday meal by now and will be wondering what slows me from returning home. I cannot rush my art though, so I have an excuse, so I will not have to explain the events that took place. I will also tell her I painted the fire merely out of my imagination. Yes, it is a good plan, so I have no fear of receiving any punishment. While I rinse off my palette, something streaks across the sky. Another fireball! I let out a gasp. It trails off somewhere in the distance. Now another fireball comes. This one seems to be growing larger in size. I then realize I may be in its zone of impact. I scramble further away, but it lands somewhere by the riverbank. Worry stirs in me. Have the soldiers misaimed that shot? They should know that there are villagers who come out here, and someone may have been injured. Uncertainly, I return to my painting site and finish packing up. I dump the dirty water into the grass and fold up my easel. I am all ready to go when I hear many footsteps. It may be a distance off, but the trees curve around the main path, so sound easily echoes off of them, and travels further than usual. Maybe it is the soldiers, who have come to investigate if anyone was injured in the misfiring. Or maybe they just return home, all done with the militaristic procedures for today. Either way, the idea of seeing men in armor entices me. As a future artisan, I must study armor carefully, as well as the materials they are made of. I would like to fight for our city as well, but Mother says I am too sickly to be bearing arms. I sometimes lose profuse amounts of blood, as well as have coughing fits, that end in me spitting up blood. I try not to let these disabilities get in the way of my everyday life. Anyway, they have lately and fortunately been rare.

I lug all of my supplies with me as I get onto the main path. I gaze down it. A large group is indeed marching in my direction. I do not wave, but still head towards them… I can be a witness, to inform them that no one was hurt. Or if they don't ask about the misfiring, I will tell them how dangerous it had been, and to maybe take extra care. I am allowed to speak to those higher than me in this way, as our King cares for his people, and does not consider us lowly if we lack great wealth. I pick up my pace, panting from the excess weight that slows me down. I grow closer to them, as their features grow more acute… It is then that I gasp. These are not people at all, but rather Charr! My face melts into one stricken with horror, and I back away as fast as my legs will go. I see the ones in the lead, bearing swords and bows. They all vary in appearance, but are still most definitely Charr. One of the Charr pauses and sniffs the air. He then sees me with his beady, gleaming eyes. He is at least 30 yards away. He has a large chest, and is dressed in only a leather thong, with a pouch that hangs at his side. He has bronze armor, which reminds me of gauntlets, around his wrists and ankles. He has fur ranging from a dirty golden shade to light brown. He has a mane almost like a lion. He has a monstrous jaw with two jagged teeth at the end, vertically facing straight up. His mouth also has many sharp teeth. He has long horns that curve menacingly out of his head. His tail is bound in a few of these same bronze gauntlets as well. He points to me and lets out a violent grunt, his party becoming aware of my presence. Other Charr dressed in robes, with flaming orange manes, and Charr with thick, iron armor descending down their spines raise there weapons, and let out a ringing growl. My throat clams up, as my body goes into a spasm. I fall to the ground, desperately pounding on my throat, my art supplies sprawled across the dirt path. The Charr begin to charge, their battle cries deafening me.

_O, Dwayna, please do not let me die here_, I plead, as my vision plunges into darkness.


	2. Postsearing: Necromancer’s Test

**Author's notes**: The Grenth-dialogue is from the Statues of Grenth you can find in-game. :) So… Well, as I mentioned previously, these first two chapters can always stand alone… Or I might eventually finish and upload the parts where Elias is found. Who knows?

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**Post-searing: Necromancer's Test**

_I am comforted by my inability to understand._

_When I wake from this dream, will you still be here?_

Light rushes into my eyelids. I must shut them immediately after opening them, for they are not adjusted to it. Okay--I'll try again. _One, two, three..._ I slowly peel them open.

I am on the back of the lead Charr. He holds me firmly to his back, his claws piercing through my tunic. I do not make any sound, despite the way it scratches at the tender skin on my back. He gallops at a brisk pace with the rest of his warband. He still grips a bow in his other hand, so his arms must be extremely powerful to be able to support me with only one. My arms dangle around his shoulders, while my legs hang limp. I am… Rather short in height, so my legs do not drag on the ground. My head rests sideways against his coarse fur, which reeks of putrid odors and ashes. I raise my head ever so slightly, and sniff the air. The air is coated with ashes. I violently cough, and the Charr grunts warningly. My nostrils are cleared of the ash, although it still enters into my lungs each time I draw breath. How long will my body be able to handle conditions like this?

I now angrily flip my head to the other side. I do not care if I upset the Charr that have captured me. They surely plan to devour me whenever they return to their camps. It is their fault, anyway, for taking me in the first place. I will not give in to them during my final moments. I know it is futile to resist in my current position, however, as their strength greatly outdoes mine.

I now become aware of my surroundings. The sky is dark with splotches of blood red colors. I know this means blood has been spilt, so I mentally say a quick prayer for Dwayna to guide their souls in the Afterlife. And the land around me is nothing but ruin. Ashes lay everywhere, the grass burnt down. All wildlife and vegetation is dead. Only a few burnt tree trunks remain in the desolate landscape. I let out a gasp after seeing all of this, but none of the Charr pay any mind to me. They continue to steadily march on, as I seem to be nothing but a burden to their leader.

My heart now only knows fear. What has become of my family? Deep inside, I know that they have perished. It is only an internal feeling—for I have no proof that this is true. I feverishly hope that my gut is wrong, and that they are all safe. Now as I lock the clues together, I become more aware of what is happening. The Charr must have been finalizing an offensive attack on the Great Northern Wall, the main thing that sheltered Rin from their attacks. With the power of flame they must have destroyed it.

But, surely I have not been out for too long—is the City still being attacked? The Charr warband that travels with me is not nearly as large as the one I had encountered on the path. Maybe this small group is to lead me back to their camps while the others continue the assault on the City.

I lethargically lay my head back down against the Charr leader's strong neck, and somehow manage to drift into sleep as they march on.

When I awaken, I lay in a cage. I rub my eyes and sit up, only to verify that it is indeed a cage. The cage is an oval shape, and the bars that imprison me are made a rusting material. I peer through the bars. The landscape around me is even more barren than before, and reminds me of sand. In the distance I can see a crevice in the land. It may be a deep river bank—much deeper than the ones outside of Rin—but the river that once may have flowed through it is dried up. A few awkward patches of grass remain, their once lustrous green color now dried to a foul orange. I feel sickened at this view. The Charr have invaded our country, and, at one time, all of the land had been as beautiful as outside of the City. Now, though, so much of it lies in ruins.

Charr march around outside of my cage. They seem to communicate with each other through specific movements, grunts, and glances. How can beasts so primeval wreck such havoc to man? A Charr in bronze armor, which blends into his dark fur, gestures in my direction to his companions. I cock my head as they move forward. One of them gives a high-pitched growl and stalks off. He then returns with a scorched piece of meat clutched between his claws. He tosses it into the cage, and I scowl. I am no beast like them and will not eat such an uncivilized meal. Satisfied enough, they leave.

I sit there, rocking in the cage. I'm still drowsy, as well as melancholy. I have no sense of time. How long have I been gone? Ashes linger in the air, diminishing the brightness of the sun. I know it is not night yet, but may be drawing nearer.

Time passes, and my stomach rumbles. I clench my teeth and look at the meat that lies in the dirt. It is thoroughly burnt, so I hopefully will not have to worry about the inside being raw. If they are feeding me, then maybe they don't intend to eat me. I reach out to grab it, my arms stiff with inactivity. I give out a small cry of pain and withdraw it. I flex it in a series of movements and then grab my meal. I hesitantly sniff it. It doesn't smell peculiar. I wipe off the crumbs of dirt that stick to it and begin to it. It is cold, so there's not much flavor to enjoy. I can't put my finger on that animal this comes from—I sure hope it is some type of wild game. Nonetheless, my stomach is satiated for the time being.

I sit in my cage, my eyes lost in a vacant stare. A few Charr occasionally scamper past, but none pay any heed to me. I sigh, already bored in my current state. I amuse myself with a few twigs I find on the ground. With them, I sketch things into the dirt. I sketch frogs and horses. I try to sketch Eli and Efthemia. I sketch the fireballs. I sketch anything that comes to mind as the sky slowly darkens. Maybe soon I will be out of here. Maybe some day I will look back on this and laugh at how the silly Charr held me captive. Maybe some day I can return to my Eli and Efthemia and give them candy. But for now, all I have is my hope to hold on to.

As the last traces of light escape the sky, I roll onto my side. The ground is cold, so I dig my hands deep within my tunic. I curl my body tightly together to conserve heat. Tomorrow will be a new day. Maybe all of my questions will be answered. I shake these impossible-to-answer thoughts from my mind and fall into a deep sleep.

I am awakened to claws prodding at the metal of my cage. I glance up, sleep still encrusted on my eyes. A Charr glares at me. I avoid his gaze, crawling up the ground. The ash in the air has resided and I am able to clearly see it is morning. He gives a growl of duty as he removes the lock from my cage. He gestures for me to follow him. I stagger up, my legs unaccustomed to the weight of my body. This may be my only chance to escape. As I follow him, I scan the area. As far as I can see, we are nowhere near any human civilizations. I think twice about running now—since the Charr do not seem intent on snacking on me, maybe it will be safe to stay with them for a tad longer. The Charr leads me into a rather random field. It is not much different from the area where I am imprisoned, but there are a few full trees and bushes jumbled together. The branched are scorched but they still stand tall. I gaze at them longingly, reminiscing on the trees I had known only a short way while ago. The Charr then begins to leave. I blink hastily. Is he abandoning me here? Am I to instead be a meal to the wildlife that still roams the area? I chase after him. He gives an annoyed grunt, but does nothing to force me back into the clearing. We reach camp again, and I obediently return to my cage.

Sometime throughout the day, a Charr leads me out of my cage again. I grow uncaring of their appearances—they're all the same vile creatures to me. He leads me to a small pond a distance off. The water is not as clear as it is in Rin, but my growing thirst compels me to drink from it. Once my throat is no longer dry, I relieve myself by a tree stump. He then leads me back to my cage. As it begins to grow dark, then, a Charr delivers more scorched meat to me. I down it quickly, the warm residue of the burnt-layer still on my tongue. I eventually rinse it away with saliva, and then it is night.

For a week or so, my days pass under this same routine. I am bored out of my mind. The dirt in my cage is so worn from sketching in it that my sketches now wash away easily, like sand. I quickly tire of the small meals of only meat and water. One morning, however, the same Charr that had lead me to the field returns. I glance at him questioningly as he undoes my lock. I trail closely behind him, taking better notice of the path we take. During the walk, I realize that the amount of trees has slightly increased. We then reach the field. He meets my eyes with his as if trying to tell me something. I frown, as they are unreadable. He leaves.

I stand still for a moment, looking around. What am I to do here? Will he return for me? Surely they aren't just setting me free. After more mental-inquiries, I head to the jumble of trees. There are only five trees or so and nothing exciting about them. I ignore the bushes, and plop down at the trunk of a tree. In a frustrated manner, I run a hand through my hair. It is dark, dirty, and may be infested with lice, for it itches horribly. I am unable to tell if I have a bad odor to myself, for the stench of the Charr greatly outdoes any I may have. As I pick dirt from my fingernails, the Charr returns. He acknowledges me and I climb to my feet. He begins to head back to camp, so I return with him.

Once a week the Charr takes me to the field. Is it to make up for all of the time I spend cramped up in small quarters? My body is deteriorating. My ribs begin to show through my skin and I am unable to grab any fat when I pinch my wrist. I cannot see my reflection in the water I drink from, but I am sure I have lost any attractiveness that I may have once had. Each week in the field I only sit there under my withering tree, gathering pebbles that lie around. I bring them back to my cage, and make up games to play with them, to keep myself sane. Every week I add more rocks to my collection, and soon I have a rather large pile accumulating.

One week in particular—I have lost all sense of time—I sit under my tree, waiting for the Charr to return. It is as I brush off my tattered breeches that I feel a lump in my pocket. I reach my hand in pocket and withdraw my lucky acorn. I scowl. It is not lucky at all. Maybe it is this acorn's fault that I feel such misery. I toss it, but not very hard. It sails into the bushes that I have been too lazy to pay any attention to. I spend more time sitting blankly under my tree, sometimes glancing back at the bushes. I have no possessions the way it is, and cannot afford to lose one. Sighing, I crawl to the bushes, and feel around with my hand. I have no fear of any feral animals that may be lurking. I would enjoy a change; I would enjoy anything to break from my normal routine. My hand brushes something smooth. I clutch onto it and pull it out. I am awed to see a small statue, made of rock. It is of a man in long robes, with an almost skeletal face. Clawing people come out of the base of the statue, desperately grabbing at the bottoms of his robes. The skeletal-man solemnly stands, almost seemingly unaware of those who beg for him.

I run my fingertips over every nook and cranny of the carving. It is flawless. I wonder how in the world it got lost all the way out here. I am examining the intricate details more closely when I hear the snuffling of the approaching Charr. I quickly jam it into the pockets of my breeches and follow him back to camp.

Later that night, I lie awake, my eyes staring into the darkness. I cannot see my own hand in from of my face. I carefully pull out my statuette, treating it as though it is as delicate as glass. The size of it is about that of the palm of my hand. I trail my fingers over the man's skeletal face and the hood that cloaks his face. I can feel horns sprouting through his cloak. Who is the person in this statue? Why are people so desperate for him? I think back to the little I know of gods and other mythology. The only god I know of is Dwayna, who mother had me pray to each night before I lay my head down to rest. I know she is depicted as a slender, youthful winged woman in shrines and poetry. But the statue I now hold in my hands… Who could this be?

I hear stirring somewhere near, so quickly put the statuette back into my breeches. I'm not sure if Charr may have night vision or anything of that manner. Once the shuffling of claws has resided, I cup my hand over my rags where the statue is. I fall asleep stroking it.

I am awakened at daybreak. I moan groggily, for usually I sleep in longer than this. As I roll over to face the locked side of my cage, I see two Charr unlocking my cage. I stifle a gasp as they charge in and drag me to my feet. I wheeze as their claws prod at my very bones. They pull me with no regard for my well-being, further, further. They stop as they reach my watering hole. They snarl between one another, and then one vehemently strikes me to the ground. I land face first in the water, my knees scraping against the dirt lurking around it. I rise and spray water out of my nose, my clothes soaked. I shiver in the new morning sun. The Charr snarl amongst themselves once again, as I feebly watch on my knees. They then finish and one brings me back to my cage.

The rest of the day goes according to schedule.

The next day I am aroused at daybreak again. My shins are battered and hurt every time I step as they lead me back to my drinking pond. They snarl and wheeze and growl at each other, knocking me to the ground. This continues for days, and sometimes they hit me even as I lay on the ground. Sometimes, they even bark and—I swear—I think I hear them laughing in their tongue. It comes out as a low, steady whine, and then climaxes as a whooping screech. When I am sure at least a week has passed, I sit in my cage, hopeful that the Charr will take me to the field once again. Instead, the only place I go is the watering hole—for drinking, relieving myself, and being beaten.

After maybe a month of this steady torture, a third Charr accompanies them. The two Charr who originally took me out no longer bicker but simply laugh with their new companion as they take pleasure in my pain. I wake up battered, with permanent bruises embedded in my shins and knees. My mouth tastes of mud, from the water I land in while being thrown to the ground, for days afterward.

I begin to grow weaker and weaker. I spare no energy on thought of my former life. I sleep constantly, desperately trying to conserve energy and relieve myself of the aching pain I feel whenever I awake. My dreams are my only escape from this new world. I dream of Rin, and mother and Efthemia and Eli. I dream of lush green meadows, and honey that comes from the bees which live by the riverside. I even dream of forging materials. I dream of everything that I had once known. But my former life seems like so long ago, and I grow forgetful of spring colors. In this barren wasteland, the only colors I know of that of despair. Dreary golds and browns and ashes are all that I see.

One night, a heavy rain arrives at night. This is the first time it has rained out here for only Dwayna knows how long. I am chilled to my very marrow and dig my head deep into my rags to shield it from the wetness. I sneeze as I breathe in dust that has encrusted the inside of my shirt and my stomach. I moan in agony once my nose is cleared. I then sob, cursing the gods who have abandoned me in this time of need. I curse the Charr who scorn me, and captured me. I curse the land, for being so barren, and I curse everything I know in this new life. I choke from too much sobbing, and roll my face into the damp dirt to save myself from this coughing attack. I pound on my chest to cease this, and spit up blood in the dirt. I had gone so long without an attack, maybe due to inactivity. I am surprised that none of the Charr's beatings had stimulated any attacks. I roll onto my back again, thankful to be breathing again. This mood is washed away, just like the ants that roam the earth during this rainstorm, when I remember the Charr. I wish for revenge against them. I wish that they may all burn in the Underworld.

It is then when I utter breathlessly, the words forming in my head, "Grenth." I don't know where this name comes from, as I cannot recall from where I have heard it before.

I draw in my breath sharply. It feels excellent to speak again, even if not aloud. I have not spoken in so long. The name "Grenth" rolls off of the tip of my tongue again. I repeat it. I chant it. I cackle manically, uncaring if I wake the Charr with my uncontrollable jives.

The earth rumbles beneath my feet and I am tossed against the bars of my cage. I let out a cry of anguish as the tender bruises on my back are harmed by the impact. I fall to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs as the earth groans. A crack forms, spewing white fog, coated with frost and ice. The earth in front of me freezes over, and small skeletal beings crawl from the cracks. I release a shrill scream at seeing the chunks of flesh sticking to their slender bones. I flatten myself against the bars as the fog increases. I am blinded, and fall to the ground.

Amidst the creatures is a looming cloaked figure. He outstretches a bony hand, and I then feel oddly reassured. I reach out and brush his fingertips. We lock hands.

Words form clearly in my head. _My Child, I am your god. Follow me where I may lead, and come whence I may call. Swear allegiance to me in life and beyond, and I shall grant you great power._

My fingers tremble, and He tightens His grip. I swallow, and then make up my mind. _This is the only way to be free…_

Apparently He has read my mind, for He replies with, _I will grant you the power to draw power from blood sacrifice. If you are ever in need of my aid, draw blood, and call unto me._ I grow light-headed at this thought. Shall I inflict harm onto myself and use this blood to receive His power?

Grenth releases my hand, and pierces his skeletal hand into my chest. I gag, and quake at my knees. I feel the very essence, the core of my life leaving me. He extracts his arm, his palm shimmering. I cough and I clutch my throat as He fades, submerging deep into to the ground with his minions. I then break into a fit of coughing as the rain clears into a starless night.

I awake the next morning feeling oddly rejuvenated. My veins pulse with renewed vigor and it takes me a while to recall the events of the previous night. My trio of Charr soon comes along to unlock my cage as usual. They then drag me to my watering hole.

I stand solemnly, awaiting my punishment. Before the first Charr strikes me though, a mischievous smile tugs at the ends of my lips. He knocks me to the ground, but the smile remains. After they all receive a turn, it has spread into a grin. I entertain thoughts in my head. This time, when the first Charr lunges for me, I dodge from his attack. He stumbles forward and it takes him a few moments to comprehend my actions. He backs up in fury and forcefully slashes his claw down my cheek. I am knocked down from the impact, my face too close to landing in the water. I stay crouched close to the ground, and look into my murky reflection. Blood drips from my face, and a lone droplet splatters on the water's surface.

I am once again reminded of the previous night. _The power from blood…_

I lift myself up, running my finger along the rough skin above my wound. All of the Charr glower at me, noses picking up the fresh scent of blood. It is not the first time they have seen me bleed, but I think the smell of blood may entice them. I let it run down my cheek and my chin. It drips onto the ground, although it isn't a very heavy flow. I bow my head, and say a mental prayer. I ask to receive the guidance and power of Grenth through this blood. I ask that I may bring revenge to my tormentors.

The second Charr scowls at the time I spend unharmed. He thrusts his arm to slash his claws across my body, but is suddenly halted in midair. I flinch, as he panics at his disability of movement. It is then that some invisible force severs his arm, and I feel my cheek regaining its blood supply. The Charr howls in anguish as his blood flows to the dirt, and his companions stare skeptically in my direction. I slowly step backwards, but they make no actions to stop me. Once I am about a yard or so away from them, I turn around and retreat.

I keep running, until my throat closes up. I fall to my knees, and cough up phlegm until I regain my normal breathing. I don't know where I'm going, but I must get as far away as possible from those brutes.

I toil over the vast landscape, my leather soles deteriorating with each step. Was escaping the wrong choice? I don't know where I'm going, and I have little vitality to continue. I grow more prostrate as I drift further from my former prison. The only company I have is the soft susurrations of the wind, caressing my scarred face as I march against it. Other than the amount of tree stumps gradually increasing, the only change in the landscape is the newly cast shadows as the day progresses on.

Much too quickly I am drained of what little energy I have. The veil of night is upon me, and I have not yet encountered another living thing. So maybe… I can rest.

After a final surveillance of the place I have chosen to rest—near a stream of tar—I curl up and try to sleep. The acrid smell takes refuge in my nostrils, but I soon learn to block it out.

After pivoting my body for possibly hours, I find escape in my dreams.

* * *

From the song _Forever_, by As I Lay Dying. 


End file.
